


Caught at a crime-scene

by YvonneSilver



Category: Criminal Minds, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 02:06:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YvonneSilver/pseuds/YvonneSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reid catches an intruder at a crime-scene, but maybe he is the one to get caught...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught at a crime-scene

He shouldn’t really be surprised to find Sam already up. He really couldn’t understand how anyone could be a morning person, but if it made his brother happy, he wouldn’t stop him. Waking up to find the coffee ready and sometimes even breakfast was a happy extra. “Morning little brother.” Dean said as he made his way to the kitchen. Sam grunted something, engrossed in a document on his laptop. “Find something?” Dean inquired as he slid into a chair opposite his brother. He put his mug on the table and reached for the coffeepot.

Sam clapped his laptop shut and looked up. “Maybe.” He passed his brother the coffee. “Couple of missing persons. Could be nothing.”

Dean cupped the mug in his hands and blew on the hot liquid. “But…”

“Nothing really.” Sam shrugged. “But we haven’t had a case in a while, and I think I’d like to check it out.” It was true: it was nice to finally have a permanent home, but they’d been cooped up inside for long enough now and much to his surprise Sam found himself wanting to get out again.

Dean huffed. “You sending us on a wild goose chase again Sammy? Not every disappearance is supernatural. We could let the police do their work first.”

Sam rolled his eyes. He knew Dean was only reluctant to go because they’d recently discovered the garage under the bunker. Sam knew Dean was itching to check out the many old-timers down there. “If you’ve got more important things to do, I think I can handle checking it out by myself.”

Deans face lit up. ‘You sure?”

Sam stifled a laugh. “The most recent one isn’t far from here. I’ll check out the crime-scene and if there’s anything off I’ll call you.” He got up.

Dean raised his mug in salute. “Awesome. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“I won’t.”

 

Sam habitually slit the crime-scene tape blocking the door to the apartment. There probably wouldn’t be much to see here; the police would’ve been over the scene already. But it was good to be out in the field again, to at least feel like he was doing something useful. As he closed the door softly behind him, he fished his notepad from his coat pocket. He flipped it open and checked his notes. This was the home of Hannah Brown, reported missing two days ago, the third young girl to have been reported missing so far. Sam closed the pad and stowed it away, before heading further into the apartment.

The small apartment was clean and light. Sam wandered through the living room, looking at the pictures on the walls and opening the cupboards. He listlessly rifled through a couple of the books lying on the coffee table. He didn’t really know what he was looking for, but he knew he’d know when he found something. He made his way to the small bedroom. There was no disturbance in this room either. The room was tidy, the bed was made. Sam checked the closet. It was as neat as the rest of the house, a row of neatly ordered shirts, skirts and trousers. Weird. If Hannah had left of her own free will, she hadn’t packed any clothes. She didn’t appear to have packed anything.

Sam was just about to close the closet and leave when he heard something behind him. “FBI! Don’t move!” A shrill voice commanded. He froze in his tracks. “Keep your hands where I can see them, and turn around. Slowly.”

Sam scowled at his bad luck, but there was really nothing he could do about it now. As instructed, Sam raised his hands and turned around. In the centre of the room stood a scrawny young man. He looked very young, more like a student in his light blue shirt and dark grey sweater vest, with that messy mop of dirty-blond hair. Sam suddenly, ridiculously, felt a little overdressed in his sharp black suit. The stranger didn’t seem like much of a threat, except that he had two hands on a gun he kept leveled at Sam. However, now that he had apprehended the intruder, he didn’t seem quite sure of what to do next. ‘He might not have back-up.’ It occurred to Sam. ‘If I can just distract him...’

He was just about to speak when the other spoke first. “Who are you? This is a crime-scene. What are you doing here?” He spoke very fast, and Sam noted the little nervous quiver in his voice.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He said calmly, taking a small step forward and slightly lowering his arms. This kid didn’t seem like someone who’d shoot quickly. All he needed was to get close enough, and a small opening in the man’s guard. “You said you were FBI? Let me see a badge.”

He hadn’t expected that to work, but the agent instinctively reached for his vest pocket. The second the stranger looked down, Sam vaulted forward. He grabbed hold of the gun with his left hand and elegantly turned his back to his opponent, placing himself between the gun and the holder. He gave a sharp tug at the gun, forcing the man behind him to either step forward or let go. When he felt the press of a body behind him, he brought his right elbow back in a sharp jab. It connected with a chin, and the hands grasping the gun let go. Sam spinned quickly on one foot, brought his right hand around the gun and pointed it at the figure sprawled on the floor behind him.

Sam couldn’t help but smile as he looked at the dazed young man rubbing his chin. That went a lot easier than he expected. In just a few quick moves the tables had completely turned. When he saw the dazed look his overpowered opponent was giving him turn to apprehension, Sam snapped back into focus. “Look, I don’t want any trouble.” he said, angling the gun at the ceiling. He clicked the magazine out of the gun. “I’m just going to leave this here.” he placed the two pieces on the dresser by the door as he backed out, “and I’ll let you get to your job.”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief when he was out in the stairwell. That was close.

-

Reid breathed a sigh of relief. That was close. It was such a rookie mistake, going in without back-up, he thought as he stood up and dusted himself off. Sure, it was only a processed crime-scene and Morgan would be right behind him when he’d talked to the neighbours, but maybe he should’ve insisted on staying together. And then getting caught off guard when he’d already cornered the intruder… Maybe he wasn’t really ready to be back in the field yet. He clicked his magazine back in its place and pocketed the gun. When he left the room, he nearly bumped into Morgan.

“Hey kid, anything interesting?”

Reid looked up, bewildered. “Eh, no, not really. Nothing out of place.”

“All right. None of the neighbours saw anything suspicious. Lets get out of here.”

As he followed his colleague downstairs he wondered why he hadn’t said anything. He’d caught someone snooping around on the scene of a crime, and had consequently let him get away. You’d think that was interesting enough to mention to your partner.

 

“You’re very quiet.” Morgan observed when they got to the car.

Reid made a vague gesture. “Just thinking about the case.”

“If there is a case.” Morgan answered, opening the car door. Reid gave him a half-smile. He knew as well as Morgan there probably wasn’t a case here. This was just Hotch’s way of easing him back into the field after what happened with Maeve, Reid knew, though he was pretending he didn’t. Just as he knew that Morgan had volunteered to go with him to keep an eye on him. It was a routine check whether there was a pattern to a couple of missing person-cases. More than likely most of them would show up again sooner or later.

This intruder was the first real sign of anything strange going on, and here Reid was, keeping it from his partner. He realized suddenly that, although reason was telling him that this person was suspect, his instinct told him not to incriminate the stranger. Reid tucked his hair behind his ear. He never worked on instinct. He worked on facts, on logic.

“Hey, you sure you’re ok?” Morgan asked, glancing sideways.

Reid shook himself out of his thoughts. “Yeah, no. I’m just not feeling very well.”

Morgan looked worried, and Reid almost felt bad for the lie. Well, it wasn’t really a lie. He just didn’t really know what he was feeling. “How about I drop you off at the hotel? I think we’ve done all we can here. We should head back to Quantico tomorrow.”

Reid nodded quietly. “Yeah, I guess.”

 

“Thanks Morgan.” Reid closed the door behind him, rubbed his eyes and stretched. Sleeping in the hotel armchair hadn’t done his back much good. But at least he’d managed to rest a little. He still didn’t sleep well at night, so he took every chance he got when he could doze off. Reid looked at the package in his hand. Morgan had brought him some take-out. Reid sighed. He appreciated how nice everyone was, but he was starting to get tired of being tiptoed around. If he felt like eating he could surely take care of that himself. He just really didn’t have an appetite for food lately.

He sat down heavily at the little round table in his room. When he opened the paper bag, the thick smell of Chinese food wafted up to him. His stomach protested and he quickly crunched the bag shut again. His gaze wandered through the dreary room as he took deep breaths to quell his nausea. He watched the specks of dust float in the single beam of afternoon light that had snuck in through a split in the curtains. He thought of her room, and how she could never let the curtains open. Suddenly the walls seemed to close in around him. He really needed to get out of here, to get some air, to do… something.

Fifteen minutes later, Reid stepped into the public library. Whenever he needed to get his mind off things, he always headed for the nearest library. Not for the books - he always brought his own since most libraries didn’t carry many Russian books - he just loved the concentrated calm that always hung in these quiet places. He loved the smell of floor polish, the sound of pages rustling, the feel of quiet people each absorbed in their own worlds. Here he could hide away from the rest of the world. It was the one building where he never felt out of place.

Yet something was out of place here. His breath caught at the back of his throat. He could feel his heart pounding. At a corner of one of the white tables sat the very same man he’d confronted at the crime scene that morning. He hadn’t seen him yet, Reid realized, he could still sneak back out. But instead he just stood there, frozen, hands clasped tightly around the strap of his bookbag.

The stranger had changed out of his sharp suit. The red checkered shirt he was wearing suited him better. He looked to be just another visitor, sitting quietly at a table, leafing through a newspaper. As always, Reid’s mind jumped to conclusions most people wouldn’t make. He noticed the man had moved his chair to the corner of the table. He’d chosen the optimal spot in the room - his back to a corner, but with enough room to get out on either side, and with a view of the main and emergency exit. He looked to be sitting comfortably - holding his head in one hand, one leg folded beneath him - but Reid noticed from the light tension in his position that he could probably be on his feet in a split second. This confirmed what Reid had concluded from the way he’d been disarmed - the man was probably a trained fighter, with experience in combat. However, he lacked the rigid stance of a soldier. Reid decided he was curious, and wanted to know more.

 

Somehow he managed to get himself back into motion. He walked up to the strangers table, took a deep breath, and cleared his throat. The man looked up with a look of polite interest, not in the least bit disturbed by the interruption. Then he recognized Reid, and he was halfway to his feet in a heartbeat.

“No, no, I’m not here to cause trouble.” Reid slid into the chair on his side of the table and pulled his bag onto his lap. “I just want to talk.”

The stranger slowly lowered himself back down, still wary. “How’d you find me?”

Reid tried to smile, but he found the others presence was making him strangely breathless. He cleared his throat again. “Hrm. Eh. Coincidence, actually. It was just by random chance that I came here and saw you. However, given the size of this settlement and the limited number of public spaces it is not entirely unlikely that two people might run into each other unexpectedly.” He was talking too much, and too fast, he realized. The way this man listened, leant forward, giving Reid his full attention while waiting patiently for him to formulate a sentence, was making it hard to sift through the mess of words jumbling through his brain. “My name is Reid. Spencer. Spencer Reid. People call me Reid.”

Reid watched him crinkle his brow and deduced that this was someone used to lying about his name. The silence lengthened, but he gave him time to weigh his options. Finally, the stranger answered in a low voice: “Sam.”

Reid knew better than to press for a last name, but he thought that was probably a real first name. That was a good start. But a good start to what exactly? He wasn’t really sure how to proceed next. He wiped his hands on his shirt and looked around. He didn’t like talking in a library. Libraries were for silence, for concentrating. “Look, eh… do you think we could… talk somewhere else?” Reid whispered.

The stranger, Sam, straightened up and looked around him, as if noticing for the first time where they were. “Sure. Let me clean up my stuff here.” He gestured at the newspapers gathered on the table around him. “There’s a diner two blocks away from here. I’ll meet you there.”

“Yes. Okay.” Reid got up clumsily, clutching at the strap of his bookbag again. “I’ll… I’ll see you in a moment.”

 

-

 

Sam drew in a deep breath. What on earth was he even doing here? He’d just gotten off the phone with Dean, letting him know there ‘might be something here’, and that he might be later. He wondered what Dean would say if he’d told him he was off to meet with an FBI agent. He’d probably tell him to steer clear. What if this was a trap? What else would it be? But the agent hadn’t acted at all like an agent. He’d been so awkward and unsure of himself. There had been something in those dark-rimmed eyes, a sadness glimpsed mostly by how he avoided eye-contact, that Sam recognized. So here he was, on the doorstep of a diner. He checked his reflection in the dark glass of the door, ruffled through his hair and pushed the door open.

A bell jingled when he stepped inside. The diner was small, with red leather booths along one side and a couple of rickety metallic tables on the other side of the bar. It was quiet this time of afternoon; only one other couple was sitting at a table, sharing a milkshake. The agent had chosen a booth at the very back of the diner, the table closest to the emergency exit. Sam strode up to the table, then hesitated a moment. Choosing the bench opposite him would mean sitting with his back to the main entrance and the rest of the diner. He could pull up a chair and sit at the side of the table, but he didn’t want to give off a hostile sign from the start.

The agent looked up at him and gave him a half-smile. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”

“Neither was I.” Sam slid into the booth opposite him. Best start things off nicely. “So… You’re actually an FBI agent.”

The agent seemed surprised. “You checked up on me?”

Sam shrugged. “You gave me your full name,” he answered, as if that explained everything. “Where’s your team?” That came out more hostile than he intended. He reminded himself that this agent had caught him on a crime-scene, and had appeared to give him the benefit of the doubt. Sam should be grateful that he’d come alone and really only seemed to want to talk. But he wanted to know what was going on here.

The man opposite him seemed flustered. His long hands fluttered around nervously to illustrate his words before settling on the table again. “It’s just me and a partner. We… We’re not actually on a case.”

“Then why are you here?” Sam saw him flinch slightly, and he instantly wished he hadn’t asked the question. There was something fragile about the man hunched opposite him, and Sam’d just pushed at a sore spot. Why was he being so hostile?

“Something happened in the field and ehm…” Reid coughed, a look of pain crossed over his face. “Well, I…” He struggled, wringing his hands.

Sam watched the conflicting emotions play across Reid’s face. He needed to talk about it but he couldn’t talk about it but he needed to talk about it. The awkward vulnerability in the other man made Sam want to reach over and squeeze the hands twitching nervously on the table.

At that moment a waitress appeared at their table and the moment was gone. The waitress took out a booklet and a pencil, and asked with a heavy southern accent. “Hello boys. What can I get for you today?”  
Reid looked up at her, startled. “A cup of coffee, decaf?” The way he seemed to ask permission to order only strengthened Sam’s instinct to reach out to him and tell him it was okay. Instead, he turned to the patient waitress. Sam realized he hadn’t had lunch yet.

“A plate of fries and a ceasar salad please.” He said with a polite smile and a nod.

-

Reid watched the waitress as she walked away, to avoid looking at Sam. But Sam didn’t drop the subject, as he’d hoped, and he heard the concern in the his question. “What happened?”

Reid half-shrugged and avoided eye-contact. Why had he even brought this up? “It’s not important.” He mumbled.

“You lost someone, didn’t you?” Sam asked in a low voice.

He really didn’t want to talk about it. He really didn’t want to think about it. He looked up at the relative stranger sitting opposite him, looking for something to distract his mind. The way Sam’s brow crinkled made Reid want to press his finger between those eyebrows and ease out the concern. Instead he reached up and rubbed his own forehead. He clenched his hands together on the table-top and looked up again. This time he looked into Sam’s eyes. The genuine worry in them seemed to wrench something inside him and suddenly he was crying.

 

The tears he’d kept inside for months were streaming down his face, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. He pressed one hand against his forehead, half-shielding his face, but the tears kept falling. He was crying silently, with little hiccups punctuating his shallow breaths. He felt a big warm hand close over his hand on the table, and he knew he should feel comfort from that, but nothing could quell the tears now. He cried for Maeve. He cried for how she’d looked at him, just before. He cried for the months of tension, for all the precautions they’d had to take, all for nothing. For the injustice of it all.

He thought he would never have cried enough. But after a while the stream slowed down. He found he could breathe a little more each time. Then, with a last shuddering breath, he was done. He lowered his hand and slowly looked up. For a split second he’d worried the other would be repelled, but Sam had a look of genuine understanding. He was offering him a handful of napkins.

He gave a shaky laugh. “I’m sorry… I…” Sam shook his head, and Reid knew he didn’t have to say anything. He accepted the napkins and dried his face as well as he could with his free hand. Reid realized Sams hand was still covering his own in a small protective gesture. He wished he could fold up inside himself, getting smaller and smaller until he could be just that hand, hiding in that warm little hollow. Sam saw Reid looking at his hand and pulled away. Reid wished he hadn’t.

“Here.” Sam’s soft voice was as warm as his touch. He pushed a plate of salad toward him. Reid hadn’t noticed the waitress bringing the food. “Eat something.”

Reid wasn’t sure he could just take his food. “Are you s…”

“Yes.”

-

Sam waited for Reid to start eating before leaning back. He still didn’t have a clue what was going on, but chances were slim that he’d get arrested, and he found himself able to relax a little. The stranger seemed to have no problem with the silver cutlery Sam had handed him, nor with the hint of holy water Sam had snuck onto the salad. He hated having to go through these little precautionary measures with everyone he met, but he guessed that was just part of the life.

Having taken care of his biggest worries, he took the time to study the skinny guy eating his food. He sat bent over, shoulders hunched, focussed solely on his food. His long fingers were wrapped delicately around his cutlery. He purposefully wrapped the lettuce around his fork, making little packages for easy eating. Sam thought he probably went about everything this way, meticulously packaging up each little problem until everything fit into place. However he seemed to have come up against a problem that was beyond him now. Sam looked into those dark eyes, red from crying, surrounded by dark circles. He probably hadn’t slept well in a while. He wondered what had happened to break him like this.

Still, despite the mourning that marked his face, he looked rather handsome. Sam’s gaze lingered on the soft, pink lips closing around another bite. He wanted to touch those soft lips. He wanted to feel that long-limbed body wrapped around him. Then he realized he already had, when he’d wrestled the gun from him. Except then he’d elbowed him in the chin. Instinctively, he reached out to touch him where he’d struck him, as if to take away the blow. Reid looked up, startled, and sat back. For a moment, Sam’s hand hung in the air between them. Then he quickly laid it back in his lap. “I’m sorry.” Where had his thoughts drifted off to? He was being a fool. Here was a man who was obviously dealing with something big, and he was trying to make a move on him?

Reid waved his hands. “No, no… That’s… it’s fine.”

The silence between them was electric as they each looked down at their own hands, wondering what had just happened. ‘He said it was fine,’ Sam thought to himself. He looked up at Reid, who was avoiding his gaze. Sam finally began to understand what was going on. He decided to break the awkward silence.

“Do you mind if we share the fries?”

Reid looked up and smiled, and Sam felt his heart jump. “You do realize this was originally your order, right?” Reid laughed as Sam placed the plate between them.

“Did you know that you squint a little when you smile? It’s really cute.” Sam said as he helped himself to a fry. He smiled himself at the flustered look on Reid’s face. This was going to be a good night.

 

-

 

Reid couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this good. He felt somehow lighter, as if something was lifting him up a little with each breath. They’d finished the meal together, with Sam joking at him and Reid mostly just listening to his voice. Now they were just sitting quietly side by side on a park bench near the diner. There was no pressure to talk. They just sat and watched the ducks swim their circles in the park pond, and listened to each other breathe. Just Sam’s presence seemed to calm him down, his thoughts slowing to focus only on the space he was taking up beside him. No thinking and planning for a while.

Reid decided he’d leave whatever happened next up to Sam. It was just what he needed: someone to follow, someone who’d take control, tell him what to do, to stop his thoughts from wandering. He didn’t want to think about where they could wander to, so he focussed on Sam again. He sat leant forward, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting in his hands, staring out over the water. Reid thought of how unusual it was to find someone who he could sit with without talking. Someone who gave him a chance to just be. And he’d found that person at a crime scene.

“What were you doing at that crime scene anyway?” He wondered out loud.

Sam shot him a sidewards glance and he wished he hadn’t broken the silence. After a moment's consideration, Sam answered, “Same thing as you probably, checking if there was a case.”

He should just let it go at that. No need to push any further. But he couldn’t help himself. He was curious. “And was there?”

“It’s probably not our kind of case.” He answered vaguely.

“What’s your kind of case?”

“The weird ones.” Sam smiled absentmindedly.

“We’ve dealt with some pretty weird cases.” The list began to run through his mind, but Sam’s soft laugh stopped his train of thought.

“Heh, not our kind of weird.”

 

They lapsed into silence again. Reid didn’t want this to be an interrogation. Sam hadn’t asked him any more questions, so why should he? For now he could just enjoy his company. They were sitting closer together than was strictly necessary, and Reid could feel the heat of Sam’s leg where they were touching. Whenever either of them turned or shifted slightly, their shoulders rubbed together. He wanted to lay his head on that broad shoulder. Reid thought of how Sam had disarmed him back at the apartment. The strength, the precise control in every movement. He blinked, clearing his head.

Sam got up and stretched. Reid’s leg tingled where they had been touching. “It’s starting to get dark.” Sam observed. “Maybe we should get inside?” He turned to Reid, raising one eyebrow.

What did that mean? Did that mean he wanted to leave? Maybe he shouldn’t have brought up the crime-scene again. Reid fidgeted nervously. If only he had the nerve to just ask. But he didn’t. He slowly got up, avoiding eye-contact by laboriously straightening his bookbag. “Yes. I should get back to my hotel.”

-

Did he just say 'I should get back to my hotel?’ Sam was confused. Had he misinterpreted it all along? Maybe he’d only wanted to talk.

"It's a fifteen minute walk." Reid said.

Well, that wasn’t exactly an invitation, but he hadn't told him to leave either. They walked together in loaded silence. Sam wished he had the guts to grab Reid's hand, or put an arm around his skinny shoulders, but he was worried he might shake it off.

 

If he thought the tension between them was bad walking to the hotel, it was nothing compared to the electricity that hung between them in the elevator. They reached the third floor and Reid led the way to his door. He opened it and hesitated in the door opening. He pushed his hair behind his ear just as Sam ran a hand through his hair. 'Nervous gesture' Sam thought.

Reid seemed to reach a decision as he looked up at Sam. "Would you like to come inside?"

Sam smiled, sighing with relief. "Yeah, yeah, I'd like that.”

 

He followed Reid down the small hall, closing the door behind him. When they came to the bedroom, he put a heavy hand on Reid's shoulder to turn him around. As Reid turned under his guidance, Sam brought his head down and suddenly they were kissing. Sam found an unexpected tendency to be gentle with Reid, but Reid kissed with a fiery hunger that almost pushed him over. Reid's breathing was shallow and urgent, his hands were already against Sam's chest, long fingers tracing patterns against the fabric and fumbling with buttons to undo. Sam brought his hand behind Reid's head, digging under his hair, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. His tongue explored soft lips and rough teeth. He stepped around Reid and began pulling them both backwards, never letting their lips part for long. When he felt the bed behind him, he let himself drop, pulling Reid down beside him. Reid had managed to undo Sam's shirt, and he let him pull it down off his shoulders. He wriggled out of it and let it fall to the floor beside the bed. Reid's long, searching fingers made their way up his chest, over his shoulders and up into his hair. Their tongues twisted together, softly and roughly, pushing and pulling. Sam brought his hands down to Reid's hips, and slid them under his sweater vest. He worked it up slowly, feeling Reid's body underneath his shirt. To get it over his head, they needed to break apart for a moment, but then the kiss started again with renewed hunger. Sam dropped the vest beside the bed and worked his fingers into Reid's hair, as Reid brought his hands down to explore Sam's back. Sam licked Reid's upper lip and pushed his tongue around Reid's. He snarled to let Reid run his tongue over his teeth.

When he couldn't contain himself any longer, he whispered against Reid's lips: "take off your shoes." They broke apart. He laughed at the confusion on Reid’s face. Yes, it wasn’t the most sexy thing to say, but it would smooth things over later. Sam fumbled with the laces of his army boots. His fingers seemed thicker and clumsier than normal. When he'd finally kicked off his second boot he pushed himself further on the bed and let himself fall backwards onto the pillows. He'd already undone his zipper when he realized Reid had stopped moving. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed. Sam felt his enthusiastic grin fade to a look of worry. He propped himself up on one elbow. "What's the matter?"

Reid answered without turning around. "Nothing. It's just... I've never done... I've never been... I mean... Not with a man."

Sam smiled. He’d worried the hesitation had been from something else, but this was something he knew about. "Don't worry. I'll be gentle."

Reid shook his head. "No... but... I don't think I'm gay."

Sam sat up. "So?"

Finally Reid turned around. He looked to Sam like a confused teenager. He remembered what that felt like. Sam folded one leg under him and leant forward. What he wanted to say was important, and he needed it to come across. "So you're usually into girls, so what? I know what it's like trying to fit yourself into a predefined box and trust me; it doesn't work. If something makes you happy, do it. Stop worrying about categories."

Reid looked down. "But I like categorizing," he answered childishly.

Sam took Reid's chin between thumb and forefinger and looked into his eyes. "I don't care. Think about your boxes another night. Tonight, you're with me. But only if you want to be."

Reid kept his eyes on Sam's as he tucked his feet under him and turned to face Sam kneeling on the bed. "I want to be."

-

Reid worked his way up the buttons of his shirt, as Sam fell back on the bed and began to wriggle out of his jeans. Reid eyes were drawn to the bulge in Sam’s underwear, and for a moment there was panic again, uncertainty as to what to do next, but then Sam sat up, took Reid’s head in his hands and kissed him softly. Reid answered fiercely, ripping off his opened shirt and dropping it behind him so he could dig his hands into Sam’s hair again. Sam dropped his hands down over Reid’s shoulders to the small of his back, and his world seemed to center around the burning skin underneath those large hands, except when it revolved around his lips being touched by tongue or his tongue exploring teeth. He wanted more, more of everything.

He lowered his hands on to Sam’s shoulders and attempted to push him back against the bed, but Sam resisted. God he was strong. Sam laughed against his lips, “You’re still wearing your shoes.” The sensation of Sam’s teeth against his lips and their warm breath mingling together messed with his ability to understand words. But Sam took him softly by the shoulders turned him till he sat on the edge of the bed. Then he rolled easily off the bed and kneeled at his feet.

Reid leant back and watched Sam’s shoulder muscles ripple as he untied his laces. He wrapped his fingers around Reid’s ankle, and the electricity of their touch seemed to spread up his calves as he carefully removed first one, then the other shoe. He set them neatly side by side next to the bedside table and Reid thought that was the most beautiful gesture he’d ever seen.

Sam grinned up at him as he took Reid’s left foot up again and Reid couldn’t help but smile back. He pulled the sock off tantalizingly slow, and Reid wiggled his toes at him. Sam gently put the foot down. His fingers brushed along the top of Reid’s foot, sending shivers all the way up to the top of his head.

When Sam had removed the other sock he looked up at Reid again, more seriously this time. Reid wanted to lean down and kiss him again, but he held back, willing Sam to come back up to him. And he did, slowly running his hands along the outside of Reid’s legs, along his ribs, over his shoulder blades to the back of his neck. He leant in, and pressed his lips against Reid’s neck, just below the jaw. Reid willed himself not to respond just yet, though every circle Sam’s tongue drew sent tingles through his head. He dug his fingers into the sheets as Sam slowly kissed his way up his jawline, punctuating each kiss with a soft gasp.

When Sam reached his mouth again he couldn’t take it any more. He flung his arms up around him and pulled him down and around, flinging him onto the bed beside him. With the same momentum, he pulled himself up till he was sitting on top of Sam. For a moment they just looked at each other, panting; Sam spreadeagled on the bed with his hands up in surrender, Reid on top of him, hands on either side of his head, bearing down on him. He could feel his excitement throbbing, and when he shifted slightly he could feel Sam’s too. He closed his eyes and moved again, and again, and suddenly Sam’s hands were at his back, guiding him, urging him on. The world shrunk to those strong hands and his ever growing need. He needed to feel, to feel with his whole body. He pressed himself down against Sam, still moving rhythmically.

Suddenly Sam rolled them both over, and he was lying on his back, Sam’s body on top of him. He was gasping and whispering and nothing made sense except to keep going. Sam’s hand was on his stomach, making its way down. It opened his pants, found its way inside and wrapped around him without even taking them off.

Reid surrendered himself completely to the chills snaking up and down his body. He didn’t even know if he kept whispering or not, but Sam seemed to know exactly what he wanted. First slow, and then faster, traveling all the way up and down the shaft, circling the head. Faster and faster and faster until finally, in a shuddering relief of energy, he came.

Afterwards, he was completely drained. He lay back, staring up at the ceiling, breathing heavily, the afterthought of the relief shivering through him. He was dimly aware of Sam bringing himself over the edge beside him. When he sensed he was done, he turned over and looked up. Sam looked down at him with a pleased smile.

“Thank you,” Reid whispered.

Sam said nothing, but stretched out his arm in a welcoming gesture. Reid curled up against him and laid his head on his chest. He felt slow and heavy, and yet at the same time it seemed a burden had been lifted. For the first time in months he felt able to relax completely, safely curled up in these warm arms. He listened to Sam’s deep breathing and within minutes, he drifted off to sleep.

 

He woke up to Sam softly stroking his head. He looked up at him in quiet appreciation, gave him a quick kiss and nestled back down again. There was not a place on this earth where he wanted to be more than where he was now. His head fit in the little hollow beneath Sam’s collarbone like he was meant to be there. For the first time in a very long time, the rampant train of thought that always thundered through his mind had stopped and he’d finally slept well. Now he lay in that hazy afterglow, with Sam’s arm wrapped around him and Sam’s fingers lazily rummaging through his hair, his thoughts till warm and fuzzy and unfocused. He thought of how little he knew about Sam and yet how much he already felt in tune with him. They’d hardly talked, instead their interaction had been mostly physical. He wondered how being with Sam was almost the exact polar opposite of his relationship with Maeve.

He heaved a deep sigh. Of course his thoughts inevitably began to clear and harden again, coming back as always to the unavoidable. He could tell Sam noticed the change in his mood, since he stopped stroking his hair, letting his hand rest heavily and warmly on Reid’s head. Reid was grateful that he didn’t ask anything, but he felt he wanted to talk about it. “Her name was Maeve.” He said quietly into Sam’s chest. “She died and there was nothing I could do to stop it.” There was really nothing more to say about it. All the complications, all the precautions, everything he’d tried to do. This was what it boiled down to. He listened to Sam’s calm breathing. After a while, Sam drew a deep breath.

“My first serious girlfriend died in a housefire seven years ago. I should have saved her, but I couldn’t.” Sam took another deep breath. “I wish I could tell you the hurt stops. It doesn’t. But you get used to carrying it around with you.”

It was nothing Reid hadn’t heard or read before, but somehow, hearing it in Sams sonorous voice made a difference. He felt Sam tense up below him, and then a soft kiss on the top of his head. He ran his fingers down the valleys of the rock-hard abs in front of him. Sam flexed further and buried his nose into Reid’s hair. Reid twisted his head up and kissed Sam softly on the lips. He looked up and saw sadness and sweetness and tenderness in those dark eyes. For a moment, they were both caught in each others stares. Then Sam sighed and let himself fall back on the pillows. Reid let his head drop against Sam’s chest again.

“I think I’m going to take a shower.” Sam said to the ceiling. Reid protested wordlessly as Sam carefully removed his arm from under his head and placed a pillow in its place, but Sam quieted him with a gentle kiss. He lingered for a moment, looking down at Reid, propped up on one elbow. “Don’t go anywhere.” Sam rolled smoothly out of bed. The sight of his lean body as he padded to the bathroom door sent pleasant chills down Reid’s back all over again, which paled in comparison with those that followed Sam’s smile from the doorway.

When he heard the shower running, he settled back into the warm pillows, breathing in the heavy smell that still lingered. He thought he’d have felt guilty, but to his own surprise he was doing okay. He was actually doing okay. He’d found some kind of peace here in this dusty hotel room with a mysterious stranger.

Unexpectedly, music started playing somewhere nearby. It took him a moment to realize it was a mobile phone ringing. He rolled lazily to the other side of the bed and picked Sam’s jeans up off the floor. He fished a cheap phone out of one of the pockets. Just before it stopped ringing, Reid saw the caller ID. It said ‘Dean’. Somewhere in the back of his head, this triggered a memory. Before he could pinpoint how he knew that name, he heard the bathroom door open. The sight of Sam in the door opening took his breath away. He wore nothing but a white towel wrapped around his hips as he stood in the doorway, gleaming. He ruffled through his wet hair before letting it fall limply around his face. An enticing smile played around his lips, until he saw what Reid was holding in his hand. A shadow flitted across his face when he saw him holding his phone. It was only there for a split second, but Reid noticed. “You missed a call.” He explained, holding the phone out to him.

Sam took the phone and checked it. “Ah man. It’s my brother. I’ve got to call him back. He’ll be worried.” As Sam wandered off to the window to make his call, Reid got the nagging feeling something wasn’t right. Sam and Dean. He’s seen that somewhere before. Or heard it, more likely. He searched through his mind. Then it clicked.

-

The line clicked and went dead. Great, now his brother was mad at him. Well, he could explain when he got home. When he turned back to face the room, he realized something had changed. Reid was sitting up in bed, watching Sam with a curious expression on his face.

“Sam? What’s your last name?” Reid placed every word very carefully.

Sam felt his heart sink. That was not the kind of conversation he’d wanted to have this morning. He wished he could tell the truth. He wished he could just be himself. But the lie came easily. “It’s Trant. Sam Trant.”  
The corner of Reid’s mouth twitched. How could that face that he’d recently seen so happy be so full of hurt? “Please don’t lie to me Sam. Are you sure it isn’t Winchester?”

He tried to smile nonchalantly, but his mouth was dry, and the voice that came out didn’t seem to belong to him. “Winchester… That’s that the crazy serial killer, right? I’ve been told I resemble him. I thought he was dead.”

Reid’s eyes narrowed. “And yet here you are. And I know your brother has some experience with coming back from the dead.”

‘You don’t know the half of it’, Sam thought. Still, he seemed to know a lot. Then he remembered; this was an FBI agent, he might even have worked on his case. His eyes darted to the gun holster on the bedside table. He knew instantly that was a mistake. He saw Reid tense up, a wary look now in his eyes. He slowly and deliberately took the holster and placed it on his lap. Sam took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. This was not going well. He wouldn’t be able to convince this man of a fake identity. And he couldn’t admit who he was. But he could say who he wasn’t. He made eye-contact again. “Spencer, listen to me. I’m not that serial killer!” He pleaded.

Reid’s shoulders drooped and he looked away. The way he sat in the large bed, a pale creature of skin and bones, sheets crumpled up around his waist, he seemed like a fragile little bird in an empty nest. Sam wished he could go up and hold him again. “People usually call me Reid.” Reid mumbled softly.

Sam sighed. “Alright. Fine. Reid.” He side-stepped into Reid’s line of sight, trying to make eye-contact again. “Please. You can’t seriously believe I killed all those people.”

Reid heaved a deep sigh that seemed to come from his very soul. When he looked up at Sam his eyes were filled with an endless tiredness. “I don’t.” He said softly. “I don’t know why I don’t but I don’t. But I can’t… I won’t… I can’t let how I feel get in the way of what I do.” His gaze dropped to his hands fidgeting with the holster in his lap. Sam tried to read his expression, clutching at his towel, feeling very vulnerable. Reid’s next words seemed to take extra effort to get out. “I think it would be better if you left.”

Sam didn’t know whether to feel relieved or hurt. He made a helpless gesture, but he couldn’t think of anything more to say. There was no way he could explain his life to any rational person. He could hardly explain it to himself. He gathered his clothes, quickly and quietly. It would never have worked, he thought to himself. He couldn’t have hidden his identity forever. Something would always have come up. Something always did. Really, he should count himself lucky he was still allowed to leave. He didn’t bother to put on his shoes, it really was for the best if he left quickly. When he reached the door he looked back. “I hope you’re not sorry. About tonight.”

The look on the agents face softened. “I’m not.”

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first crossover, and my first slash fiction. Comments and feedback are greatly appreciated!


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